


La tristesse du diable

by kyojinouji



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Magic, Light Angst, Light Magic, M/M, Magic types are decided by hair color, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Spiders, Warlocks, Wooyoung spends most of this starting fights, Yeosang and San spend most of it trying to stop the fights, but it's at the end for a little spice, honestly it's just a couple mentions of it, light Violence, that deserves its own tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyojinouji/pseuds/kyojinouji
Summary: Levanter Academy never guaranteed their protection.Another Lightworker dead was only one less mouth to feed under the reigns of the Abyss.The Light and Dark rivalry between the two halves of the ancient academy was born within their veins. Determined to fly under the radar, for the safety of his family and fiancé, Jung Wooyoung chooses never to speak out. Until one day, his voice becomes the loudest in a cacophonous crowd.An AU where hair color determines magical ability, flowers are great conversation starters, and Yeosang has a bizarre appreciation for spiders.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Mentioned Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Mentioned Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Side Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	La tristesse du diable

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [La tristesse du diable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635678) by [RudeLise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RudeLise/pseuds/RudeLise)



> ✧This work was a request from [@redheadatiny](https://twitter.com/redheadatiny) !  
> You already know how much fun I had writing this, but thank you again for giving me the opportunity to do it. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I adored working on it!✧
> 
> ✧✧ The title is from La tristesse du diable by Meimuna✧✧

> _**"Qui peut penser** / Who can think_  
>  _**À la tristesse du Diable** / to the Devil's sadness._  
>  _**Non je ne suis pas** / No, I am not_  
>  _**Celui qu'on vous fait croire** / the one you are made to believe."_
> 
> _**La tristesse du diable** \- Meimuna_

* * *

The pale rose-gold of morning kissed him delicately; just like his lover had the night before. While the man in question was still sprawled beside him, the navy silk of his pajama blouse unbuttoned at the crease and revealing a strip of creamy flesh, there was always a question that flitted through his mind. Like a key into an antique lock, it pushed forward and clicked until there was nothing else left for him to think about– floodgates cracked open at the break of dawn.

_Did he actually want to be here?_

To say that Kang Yeosang was beautiful was to strip him of every other lyric in the warlock’s endless ballad. Kang Yeosang was ethereal, celestial, and a force to be reckoned with. With the way he could command even a miniature sun between his fingers, Kang Yeosang was one of the most powerful entities to grace their ancient school, Levanter. 

But for Wooyoung, the Lightworker was more than just energy incarnate. He was the younger’s reason for breathing, the rippling tides beneath skipping stones. He would wage a war for his betrothed and follow him to the ends of the universe– but he could never tell if that was what Yeosang wanted. 

Even as the older stirs, his blonde strands dancing across the pillow like a smattering of stars across the Milkyway. It’s a sight so intimate that Wooyoung cringes with the thought of anyone else seeing it. So, with a sigh and petal-soft resolve, he leans forward until his lips press against the other’s forehead. It’s no more than a butterfly’s touch, but Yeosang shifts against the contact. 

When Wooyoung pulls away, golden-green eyes stare back at him. Warm, blurry. _Adoring_.

“Good morning, loser,” Wooyoung says, flipping onto his back. “I thought you were going to sleep forever.” 

Yeosang yawns but still manages to flick one of Wooyoung’s earrings with intense precision. 

“As if you’ve been awake for ten minutes,” the boy mumbles, rolling off of the bed with a cat-like stretch. 

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches the way Yeosang tiptoes to the wardrobe, hissing softly as the chilly hardwood floor greets his bare feet. The closet hinges cry as he throws them open; revealing a spectrum of pastel uniforms. Colors that Wooyoung would have never picked for himself, but the very ones that they could never stray from.

The uniform he pulls out of the depths is one that Wooyoung hardly sees him in. It’s a simple white blouse made of nearly sheer silk, white slacks embroidered with ornate gold ivy, and a white cloak with the same detailed design tickling its wool. It’s the kind of outfit that makes the older look like a prince rather than a university student. 

“Are you adding a beret today?” Wooyoung finally asks, his voice still gruff with sleep. Yeosang shrugs, knowing that the decision won’t come until they’re nearly out the door and on their way to breakfast. 

When Wooyoung pulls himself from the warmth of their cocoon, he grimaces at his own lavender hair sticking up at nearly every angle. In another life, he would have been born with something perfectly straight. But for now, he had to fight against the rat’s nest every morning. 

“Seems like you’ll be the one needing a beret,” Yeosang grins, lifting a mug of tea to his lips. It would be foolish to assume that the drink was anything more than warm, liquid sugar. Instead of dignifying the boy with a response, he shrugs on a gentle lilac cloak and matching uniform. Along its hem, delicate pink blooms spill forth from the thread. There were rules in place at the academy, and begrudgingly, he accepted them. For his family, but also, for the pride of Lightworkers everywhere. 

When they do step into the main mess hall, the iridescence of the room slams into Wooyoung’s chest like a bullet through glass. Everywhere he looks, color spirals into his peripheral. On one side of the grand, stone room are rows of autumn cherry wood tables. At each one, rows of students clad in pale uniforms sit scattered. 

Wool cloaks were the most common choice for all magic users. Those with powdery tones were aligned with the Light; driven by nature and bound by ancient oath to their lineage. However, Lightworkers were not the only warlocks enrolled at Levanter. 

The wide aisle way leading to the stage and podium at the front of the room acted as a barrier. A line no one ever dared to cross. 

The tables that made up the other segment of the dining hall were seated with warlocks that had never been controlled. Lawless and untethered, the Dark were able to pull those woolen cloaks over society’s eyes. Their world was never meant to coincide with the Light. 

Clad in caliginous furs and leathers, they were beasts. Enough so that the moment one, a stocky redhead with a gummy grin, catches Wooyoung staring, he mimics biting him. The action, while not uncommon, makes Wooyoung skitter backward. His weight collides with something warm, and as he turns to glance behind him, he’s met with a dual-toned, level stare. 

_Red and blue._ For a moment, he isn’t sure what to make of the newcomer until Yeosang pulls him down the walkway to their friends. As they take their seats, the realization hits him. The warlock, now lost among the crowd of black, brown, and deep-neutral tones, was someone that Wooyoung had never seen before.

“Sangie,” he murmurs, watching the other nearly stab Changbin with a metal fork over the final slice of honey-bread. “Who did I bump into back there?” 

As Yeosang finally manages to pull the sweet away from the visibly irritated Lightworker, he shrugs. 

“Choi San,” he says, swallowing a mouthful. “He’s in our Herbology class. Sits in the back mostly though.”

How had he missed the boy before? Regardless, he hadn’t given himself a second to actually look at his face; only the startling tones that peeked at him beneath black bangs. 

Huffing slightly, he leans back in his chair. His gaze drifts over the sea of dark robes. What did it matter? Choi San was one of _them_ anyway.

Halfway through breakfast, he watches one of the grand wooden doors fly open. The bulk of its mahogany surface slams into the stone wall behind it, casting off a horrid sound. Professor Wang, or Jackson as he insisted the students called him, rushes through the hall in a gust of pale yellow robes. Or rather, they appeared to be; beneath the crimson that tainted them. 

“Another one,” he barks, stepping up to the headmaster’s podium. “Another student lost to your negligence. Do you even recognize the name Kim Junhyung? Blessed be, do you take pride in the cataclysm your apprentices create?” 

His fury is met with the inky depths of Headmaster Byun’s chilling stare.

“To find joy in it,” the warlock says, swirling his mug of coffee as though it was wine. “I would first have to acknowledge it.”

“Open your eyes, Baekhyun!” Jackson all but wails. “This is the third one in just as many months.” He spins around then, charging back out of the mess hall as though he was never there at all.

Across the table, Changbin’s eyes are wide. His blonde hair tumbles into them as he refocuses his attention on their friend group. Kim Junhyung, Junji, was only a year above them and one of the most kindhearted Lights in the academy. 

“Fuck,” Changbin mutters to no one in particular. “Five years, you’re almost done, and someone else decides that you’ve done your time on this bitch of an Earth.”

Judging by the lack of reaction from the faculty, aside from Professor Wang, there would be no punishment once again. And the swirling mass of leather and fur across the room seems to sense that.

“If Lights would just keep their nose out of other people’s shit,” a Dark caster calls, ignoring the way his friends tug on his sleeves, “you wouldn’t be someone’s next target.” 

It doesn’t matter that someone manages to yank him back down into his seat or that the boy, Choi Jongho, is a year below them. What matters is that they lost another soul to the wicked game of tug-of-war that the two sides never seemed to end. And Wooyoung, powered by fire and wrath, lets his feet carry him halfway across the aisle, gold and lavender flames licking his fingertips.

The action pulls moisture and energy from the room. By the time Yeosang’s arms are wrapped desperately around his waist, with Changbin and Felix securing his arms, a large stormcloud has already formed over the Dark student’s head. In a breath, Wooyoung lets the spell drop, spilling water over Jongho.

With a scream, the redhead jolts out of his seat. One foot positioned on the surface of the table, he makes to lunge at the Lightworker before being apprehended by two of the few Dark students Wooyoung would consider friendly, Jeong Yunho and Park Seonghwa. Even so, the boys’ usually cheerful expressions sour when they train their gaze on Wooyoung. 

“You probably should start running,” San grits out between chattering teeth. His clothing had been soaked by the sudden shower and his hair is plastered to his forehead like a damp curtain. “My cousin is on the soccer team,” he adds. 

But as Wooyoung grabs Yeosang by the hand, dragging the chain of Light students out of the room like a shooting star racing through the atmosphere, he catches it. The way San winks and grins at him, the bright blue of his iris disappearing just for a second. Even as they tear through the halls, the lingering echoes of Jongho’s frustration following them endlessly, Wooyoung can’t erase that smile from his mind. _Choi San had dimples._

And then, maybe he does forget. Because they had been forced into their Sigil Intention course for the last two hours, and frankly, Wooyoung took a nap thirteen minutes in. He forgets until, on their way to Advanced Herbology, Park Seonghwa stops and drags them into an empty alcove with a disappointed expression etching itself into his flesh. 

“Jung Wooyoung,” he says softly, lifting his chin only when he addresses Yeosang as well. “You know that Jongho didn’t mean what he said, right?”

“Are you sure about that?” Yeosang growls, crossing his arms over his chest. “He certainly seemed like he did– and maybe, you all silently agreed.”

Seonghwa’s face pales. 

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head frantically. “Never, I would never agree with that. Jongho is just an emotional being. You can’t hold that against him.”

“Park,” Wooyoung takes a step forward. It shouldn’t please him as much as it does that the older man skitters backward until he hits the stone wall behind him. “Another innocent died in this silent war and you’re all expecting us just to suck it up and move on.” One more step forward, but Seonghwa has nowhere to go. “You may not be bound to oaths or laws, but you are bound to your mortality. Don’t tempt fate.”

And with that, Wooyoung leaves the alcove with his head held high. 

They arrive to Herbology late, no doubt thanks to their unexpected detour, yet Professor Wang does not seem to mind. Instead, the man smiles kindly when his gaze lands on Wooyoung’s dejected form sliding into place toward the front of the outdoor room. 

Truth be told, Herbology was one of the more entertaining courses offered at Levanter. It was geared toward the magical attributes of Light magic, being the form’s nature-inclination, and the advanced-placement courses were almost always rosters of delicate pastels. However, there were smatterings of Dark students throughout the otherwise flawless utopia as well. 

Until this morning, Wooyoung had only ever noticed Bang Chan and Lee Minho. The two were hard to miss; both commanding energy like atom bombs. And while he was originally apprehensive around the younger of the two, Chan proved that his goal in life was never to hurt anyone. As Wooyoung slips into place behind him, the boy turns to him with concern painting his features.

“You alright?” The accent mingling with his words always reminds the Light caster of sunbeams and ocean waves over sandy beaches. He had never stopped to ask Chan his life story, but the rumor was that he had transferred early on from Australia. 

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung mumbles back, his fingers finding Yeosang’s under the desk. “I’m sorry about this morning. I probably overreacted–”

“You didn’t,” Minho cuts in, his dark eyes not leaving the professor. “Choi shouldn’t run his mouth. At least his cousin knows to stay out of shit.” 

“Honestly,” Chan says with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the burgundy strands. “I swear he’s a good kid, but he forgets himself.” Before he faces the front again, Chan casts him an uneasy thumbs up. “Just glad you’re alright, mate.”

Like Minho and Chan, there were Dark warlocks that saw the inequality at play within the school and wizarding society as a whole. Something as simple as hair color defined everything down to the kind of magic that danced around their fingertips. As a child, he never understood why the students of the Dark seemed to live in the infirmary until he walked into the wrong classroom on the first day of elementary. 

It was there that he witnessed the power of the Abyss for the first time; the way a girl no older than him summoned a creature– a swirling mass of black smoke with fangs and claws to haunt his nightmares. He watched as she opened her arms and let the void cover her until it dissolved entirely. But the calm lasted only for a moment, because before she could even begin to cast a spell, her body hit the linoleum of the training floor with a _thwack_.

It was that day he saw the law of casting in action. Material could not be created or destroyed; it always had to find its way from something else. Dark warlocks didn’t pull energy from the natural world. Instead, it originated from their magical bonds; their life force. And one day, they could be left with nothing.

There was a risk that came with recklessness. However, that did not grant them the right to turn against their fellow magicians. Senseless culling was only that.

“...partners. Your groups have been preassigned, but I tried to take into account your friendships. I know it’s not always favorable to work with others.” Jackson Wang’s voice pulls Wooyoung back to the present, only to drench him in a methylated breeze of fresh anxiety. It doesn’t help that the professor has already begun to dictate the newfound partnerships aloud. 

“Jung Wooyoung, Bang Chan, Kang Yeosang, Hwang Hyunjin, Choi San, and Lee Minho,” Jackson calls, setting their assignment packet on Chan’s desk as he moves through the rows with the grace of a roaming lion. And for a breath, Wooyoung is thankful. Until he sees Hyunjin’s intense glower. The younger blonde sits on Yeosang’s other side, his hair pulled back from his face and into a simple half-ponytail. 

“Play nice,” he hears Yeosang mumble. Hyunjin grunts something under his breath but otherwise seems to school his expression into something presentable by the time Minho and Chan turn around in their chairs. It only wavers when San drops into the empty seat beside Chan. 

“Birds of a feather flock together, I guess,” the raven-haired warlock says, grinning when Wooyoung meets his gaze. “Professor Wang probably thought putting the only three Dark magicians in the same group was the best way to avoid conflict.”

“Even if one of the Lights was totally prepared to rip into your cousin this morning,” Hyunjin murmurs, hardly loud enough to be heard above the ruckus of other groups moving into their positions. 

With a sigh, Wooyoung feels Yeosang’s fingers squeeze his own. His boyfriend, focused intently on the page of instructions Chan slides their way, has taken to massaging tiny circles into the dip of his wrist. It’s a subtle way to say ‘ _I’m here_ ’, but every ounce of the comfort offered goes straight to warming Wooyoung’s heart. His personal Halley’s Comet. 

“Rose bushes,” Minho reads, his voice laced with disbelief. “What could possibly be advanced about the maintenance of rose bushes?”

“Incorrect maintenance can upend an entire love potion,” Hyunjin replies, absentmindedly twirling a pair of golden pruning shears. “Not that you would have experience in that department.” The tacked-on statement dips Minho in a crimson flush, fury canvassing his features.

“I have plenty of romantic experience, you toadstool. Just ask my fiancé.”

Hyunjin lets out a sharp laugh before turning to face the Dark warlock fully. “A fiancé? Maybe you have brewed a love potion before. Who would be unlucky enough to get stuck—“

The words are devoured by a flash of gold as the shears fly out of his grasp and just past his left eye. The only evidence that they had ever been there at all, rather than stuck in the bark of a nearby dogwood, are the delicate strands of Hyunjin’s platinum hair fluttering to the ground.

For a moment, the class falls absolutely silent. 

Hyunjin breathes gently, his eyes flitting between the fallen pieces of his identity and the Dark caster before him who commands energy like a swan song. 

“You tried to stab me,” the Light student says, taking a step back. “You tried to take my eye out.”

“If I was trying,” Minho growls, moving closer, “I wouldn’t have missed.”

Even as the rest of their group scrambles to their feet, prepared to throw barriers around them to protect the other students, they’re nowhere near fast enough to beat Hyunjin’s agility. Within seconds, the warlock has positioned himself on the other side of Minho and is carefully driving the older in a circle so that his back faces the rose bushes. Yeosang, with a shuddering gasp, realizes their classmate’s goal before the spell is cast.

“Hyunjin, wait!” Yeosang cries, attempting to intercept the tendrils of neon green and orange that climb from the younger’s fingers. He is too late, however, as the energy wraps around the thorny branches of the delicate plant. It shapes them into long vines before they begin to squirm like a dozen venomous snakes. 

Evidently, Minho does not expect them to coil around his limbs, pulling him into the foliage as though he was to become another rose for the collection. Even as San and Chan rush to drag the warlock out of the plant’s grasp, Hyunjin refuses to let up on the spell until Wooyoung does the only thing he can see fit.

He throws a punch right into the Lightworker’s annoyingly perfect jaw. The casting drops instantly and so does Hyunjin. 

“Blessed be!” Professor Wang squeaks. “What are you lot doing? Why is Hwang on the floor?” he asks, spinning to face the most reliable figure in the group. Yeosang only stares back, golden eyes wide with horror.

Carefully, he tries to recount the event, but when he finishes they’re met with an uneasy response.

“Detention then,” Jackson mutters, helping Minho to his feet. “All six of you. You’ll tend to the Frosted Web in the academy gardens on an alternating schedule until I decide that you’re capable of being adults again.”

“But professor—“

“No arguing, Choi. You, Kang, and Jung will take the Tuesday and Thursday shifts. Hwang, Bang, and Lee, I’m placing you on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Heavens above know that you need to bond the most.”

“Professor,” Wooyoung mutters, glancing at the older man. “Excuse me if this is out of line, but those two just tried to wipe the floor with each other. Are you sure this is the best idea?” 

Instead of a response, Jackson offers him only a shrug before escorting Minho to the infirmary. 

“Hwang,” Chan says, “you’re going to want to hide from Han Jisung for a while.” 

Hyunjin makes a face, obviously confused by the suggestion of the usually playful Light warlock posing any threat. 

“Minho’s fiancé. He’s a terror when he’s pissed.”

Wooyoung glances at San. The boy’s eyes have locked onto the strands of hair littering the grass. His face is a mask of impassable thought and even Yeosang, a talented Empath, seems like he’s having a difficult time getting a read on the Dark student.

Sensing their stares, San shivers gently before lifting his head. When he catches Wooyoung’s gaze, his dimples make another vivid appearance.

“Do you guys have another class block after this?”

They find themselves walking across campus, auratic energy bouncing off of the cobblestone paths as their magic mingles with the natural elements. In the heat of the afternoon, San had removed his heavy cloak, revealing a black leather crop belted in all the right places. To Wooyoung’s begrudging amusement, it left little to the imagination.

Even Yeosang’s attention lingered on the man’s biceps the moment they were uncovered.

“Frosted Webs, huh,” the Dark warlock muses, climbing over a fallen tree in a graceful swoop. When his boots scuff into the dirt and pine on the other side of the barricade, he holds out a hand to help the other two over. Yeosang, however, grimaces at the show of upper body strength. Instead, the blonde flicks his wrist, casting a golden embrace around the trunk. Without a word, he lifts it out of the path and settles it off to the side. 

Even so, San continues unbothered, “What do they mean by web? Is it infested with silkworms?”

“Close,” Wooyoung mumbles, fighting the chill that runs down his spine. “Tell me, _Sannie_ , are you scared of spiders?”

The Dark warlock doesn’t have time to consider the question thoroughly before the tree itself comes into view. 

From a distance, its blue and white blossoms, hanging low in long tendrils, give off the illusion of icicles on a cabin roof. The closer they get, the more they seem to shimmer and shine in the gentle breeze. But as the sunlight bounces off of them, it becomes clear that the flowers themselves are not what reflects the light.

Each square inch of the beautiful foliage is coated in layer after layer of delicate webbing. Arachnid nests bulge in nearly every visible crevice; no doubt within hidden ones as well. And while there is a slight wind to the day, the vines are not moving because of the elements. Rather, thousands of jewel-toned spiders walk along its surface; their home.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” San whispers, nearly jumping out of his skin when he notices a dime-sized stray from the tree climbing on the toe of his boot. Before he can kick it off, or worse, Yeosang kneels down to offer the creature his palm. 

Carefully, the spider wanders onto his hand and allows him to walk it back to the tree. Grinning, he turns back to face them and bounces on his heels.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” he calls, ignoring the way both men shake their heads. “They pollinate their host year-round. It’s a wonderful symbiotic relationship. Humans could only dream of achieving something so perfect.”

“It’s nice, Sangie!” Wooyoung yells back, sticking his tongue out when San whispers ‘whipped’ under his breath. He watches Yeosang trapeze beneath the vines and cringes when he thinks of the sheer number of colonies that must occupy the space.

“So, how long have you been together?” San asks, kneeling to pull bloodworm containers from the duffle bags they had checked out from the greenhouse. Professor Wang was more than excited to ship the feed off with them.

“We’ve been friends since birth,” Wooyoung says, fighting the smile that laces his lips anyway. “Started dating at fourteen and our parents gave us their betrothal blessing on my nineteenth birthday.”

San’s eyebrows shoot into his bangs instantly.

“Engaged? Congratulations.” The word is punctuated with something dull, like a once brilliant worry-stone rubbed free of its lustre. Nonetheless, Wooyoung opts to ignore it as he pops the lid to one of the containers. Their job here was simple: drop the worms at the base of the tree. They weren’t meant to feed every spider, but the six cartons would be enough to maintain the ones that couldn’t access meals often. It was a dog-eat-dog world, even for bugs.

It’s when one crawls onto his hand that Wooyoung squeaks and falls flat on his back. San, bent over and brought to tears, laughs until his stomach hurts. Even when Wooyoung knocks his ankles out from under him, just to see if the cat-like man would stay on his feet, San still cackles like there’s no tomorrow. It’s enough to draw Yeosang away from his new friends with panic dancing over every feature. 

What he sees, however, is only his boyfriend in his natural, playful habitat. 

Wooyoung has made his way onto his knees, and with a spell similar to the one used earlier, he is levitating a wriggling bloodworm in front of San’s nose as the other boy screeches. When the Dark magician spots Yeosang returning, he squirms away until he’s able to cling to the blonde’s ankles.

“Your boyfriend is possessed!” he laughs, blurry vision making the sunlight even more blinding. Through the joyful tears, Yeosang looks angelic. 

“San,” Yeosang says, fighting a smirk, “aren’t all Dark magicians hosts to the Abyss?”

The other boy pauses, as though actually considering the answer to the truth they all knew, and shrugs. 

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little possessed too.”

It would be easy to say things changed after that day. But in reality, they seemed only to become more convoluted; dented by the possibility of what could be tarnished with the reality of what was. 

Choi San, with a delicate beauty that made bluebells weep, was kind. His gentle love for all things wasn’t obvious at first, at least not within the three meetings where he seemed to linger on the sidelines while Yeosang plucked spiders off of the Frosted Web’s bark. He didn’t show that sort of soft, untamed admiration for life until nearly a month into their detention. 

Unlike Hyunjin, Chan, and Minho, their group had not tried to strangle each other. There were no late-night infirmary visits to stitch up cuts and bruises brought on by another warlock. Rather, all of their injuries came from their own reckless fun. 

Their moonlight walks off the garden’s winding paths. The bet that San could never climb to the top of the ancient sycamore– the one that cast the river beds in eternal shade. The time San made good on such a promise, showing off his upper body strength, before plummeting back to the earth like a fallen angel. That injury was the worst they had yet to see, but one that San didn’t ever try to rival. 

Professor Wang never took the initiative to end the detentions. Even when Minho and Hyunjin began to high-five each other on their way into class or when San moved his seat toward the front of the room. Maybe, he saw something that the six of them did not. And as such, the boys continued to blossom.

It’s on a Thursday afternoon, just before the crowning of the weekend, that Wooyoung notices a change in San. No longer does the man sit as far away from the tree as he possibly can. Instead, the Dark magician has curled up in the grass beside him, his head resting on Wooyoung’s lap. Black strands of hair tickle the back of the Lightworker’s wrist as he fiddles with a pile of clovers that he had long since pulled from their home in the soil. 

Their stems are just long enough that he can braid them easily, slipping new pieces here and there into the plaits, until a chain begins to appear. As a voice enters the clearing, honey-sweet and laden with affection, San’s face brightens instantly. A sunrise over the darkened canvasses of a long-forgotten art gallery. 

“Woo! San! I think there’s a new colony,” Yeosang calls, poking his head out of the blue and white blossoms. 

Wooyoung doesn’t miss the way it makes San’s award-winning dimples appear. He also doesn’t miss the softness that encapsulates Yeosang as the older settles into place beside them. 

His blonde hair shines like a halo in the sunlight, barely covering the pink smudge beside his eye. A mark that had been covered for so long; glamored whenever it was more than just Wooyoung in a room.

But now, the Dark warlock on his lap reaches up to Yeosang’s cheek, cupping his jaw. His thumb ghosts over the delicate skin, gold against rose. 

And for a moment, Yeosang leans into the touch, his lids fluttering shut.

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything. Even as his fiancé’s eyes fly open. Even as he seems to remember himself, where they are, and who they’re with. Even as he realizes, not for the first time, that the world is endless and Yeosang didn’t have to be tethered to him. Not with the way the embarrassed flush spreads along his cheekbones and the fragile smile shatters beneath Wooyoung’s stare. 

They don’t talk about it. 

The second time Wooyoung notices that something has changed is when they enter the grand hall for dinner later that month. As his gaze lands on the limitless buffet strewn across the tables, and the way Hongjoong’s platinum mullet bobs as he notices the couple, a voice to his left startles him nearly out of his skin.

San’s cousin is leaning against the end of the Dark casters’ table. His arms are crossed over his chest in defiance, but the stance doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, Jongho looks bashful.

“Wooyoung-hyung,” he starts, shifting his weight between his feet anxiously. “Can we talk?”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at Yeosang’s equally baffled expression. However, the redhead doesn’t seem as though he poses a threat. 

“In the hall?” the Lightworker murmurs, feeling the buzz of the hall’s attention on them. However, Jongho shakes his head before dropping into a low bow.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “For what I said. Seonghwa tried to stop me, but I didn’t listen. Hell, San was prepared to lock me in a cabinet the moment he heard me speak.” When the younger meets his eyes, the anxiety seems to flicker like a low-lit candle. “I wanted to do this here, publicly, because I think it’s time things change. If me, or any of my friends, overstep again, please tell us. We want to do better, hyung.” 

And with that, Jongho sprints back to his seat beside San. 

When the older warlock meets Wooyoung’s alarmed stare, he only grins widely before taking a bite of his peach-tart. He blows a kiss.

Meals pass peacefully from then on. The Dark magicians don’t try to cause trouble with the Lightworkers. No one mimes biting each other. And more than once, San takes a roundabout trip around the perimeter of the hall just to ‘accidentally’ fall into Wooyoung or Yeosang’s lap. And even then, he usually stays put until it’s nearly time to leave.

And just when Wooyoung starts to get comfortable with the Twilight Zone they’ve fallen into, the third hint slams into him. It’s the tidal wave that drags him along the seaglass and broken shells. It’s the salt that licks his wounds.

He was late to Herbology, yet again, because no one had been there to wake him when the bell rang at the end of Sigils. Yeosang had been feeling under the weather that morning and said that he would try to make it to their second class of the day, but couldn’t guarantee anything. So, the last thing he expects to see is one of his fiancé’s familiar pink berets disappearing into one of Levanter’s many alcoves. 

With a mischievous grin, he tiptoes after the older boy, hoping to startle him. However, when he draws close enough, he hears hushed voices deep in conversation. 

“He can’t know, San,” the deeper voice says. _Yeosang_. “If he knew we were hiding something like this from him, he’d been devastated.”

“Wooyoung doesn’t need to be involved in this, _Sangie_.” The nickname, the one that Wooyoung gave his fiancé when they were children, digs into his ribs like a glass dagger. He wonders, for a delirious second, if roses will bloom from his wound. 

“You obviously don’t know Woo, then,” Yeosang chuckles, the end of it lifting into a tiny squeal. “San, set me down!” the older pleads. A soft _thump_ of rubber soles echoes through the otherwise empty space. 

“Did you tell him where you were going this morning?”

“He thinks I’m sick. But I promised I would go to Herbology.” There’s silence, punctuated by a gasp. “Shit, San, we have class now.”

As Wooyoung fights the toiling agony in his stomach, his gaze falls on a nearby window pane. Its pristine glass reflects the alcove perfectly. And that’s when Wooyoung sees it.

San is leaning forward, just enough to press his lips to Yeosang’s cheek. Or rather, the pink petal mark at the corner of the older warlock’s eye. Before he pulls away, Wooyoung is already running back down the corridor. 

He doesn’t go to Herbology.

When San finds him, Wooyoung is curled up on his bed with the blankets pulled over his head. The Dark magician has hardly been in Yeosang and Wooyoung’s shared room, but it’s obvious that he feels perfectly comfortable as he flops onto the mattress beside the unmoving lump.

“Sangie went to get you medicine from the infirmary,” San says, leaning over the mass until his face appears upside down before the little hole Wooyoung left to breathe. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“No,” Wooyoung groans, rolling away. It’s suffocating but no worse than looking the man in the eye. But a question does stick out in his mind so he rolls once more. “How is Yeosang getting medicine for an unknown illness?”

“You passed Jisung on the way here, remember? Apparently, you yelled something about a stomachache.” San shifts his weight off of the younger. “Funny though, heard something about a migraine from Hongjoong.”

“Could have both,” Wooyoung mutters. The response makes San sigh as he finally wrangles the blanket off of the Light caster. 

“Talk,” San demands. 

And for some reason, Wooyoung does.

“You kissed my fiancé,” he whispers, not wanting the brimming tears to roll down his cheeks. They do anyway, spilling into the lavender hair that feathers against the pillowcase. “I saw it. I see the way you look at each other. He never used to sneak around, but you…” He can’t fight the way his voice wavers. “He does it for you.”

San doesn’t speak for a moment. Instead, he pushes himself off of the bed with a sigh and stands, shakily, before Wooyoung. And then, his lip quivers.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I have so much I want to tell you. Things I can’t say without Yeosang beside you.” He pauses again, looking small. Delicate. “He loves you, Wooyoung. He always has, and God as much as I envy it, I would never do anything to break what you two have. I’m not the best at hiding my emotions. _Fuck_ , I’m not the best at having emotions

But Yeosang loves you. And we haven’t done anything, I promise you. He’s beautiful, celestial, and every ounce graceful as an angel. And you? You’re a stunning garden of hope and love. You two are everything that I want to know in life; everything I want to love.” 

He stops again this time using the back of his hand to brush away a rolling tear. 

“And I do love you. I love Yeosang for the way he accepts every living thing. I love him because he sees beauty even in spiders and moths. I love him because he’s a daisy lost in a midnight storm. But I also love you, because you know how to smile even when the world is burning. When you fall, you still pull yourself off of the ground and start running again. Even when you’re covered in dirt and river water, you wear your heart on your sleeve, but always warn others to hide theirs.”

When neither breathes, Wooyoung scrambles to think of something, anything past the cotton in his mouth. But his brain is fog and his tongue is sand. So, the silence lingers until San turns on his heel and leaves the room without another lyric in their tragic ballad.

And a second too late, Wooyoung begins to realize it. 

There are two souls on the Earth he never wanted to lose. But maybe, he just lost them both.

  
  
  


Wooyoung had never been so conscious of the passing of time. But as the hourglass continued its endless march toward uncertainty, he had noticed every passing minute since San had been brought into their lives. 

Today, the gloom of the morning suffocates him. Despite waking up nearly an hour prior, he could not pull himself from the cocoon of his bed. Yeosang’s fingers are wrapped around his bicep, as though tethering him in place, but the other man is wide awake. He hadn’t spoken since he walked back into the room the night prior to discover his sobbing fiancé in the center of their room. He won’t even meet Wooyoung’s eyes. 

“Why are you angry?” the younger asks again. Three times they had done this. Three times he had been met with Yeosang’s belligerent silence. And once more, it seems no different. “I can’t apologize if you don’t tell me what I did.”

A breath.

“I don’t want you to apologize,” the boy whispers. “I just want to know why we don’t talk about things anymore.”

It catches him off guard in the way an ocean wave sweeps over a child still on the shore. It knocks the air from his lungs and plunges him beneath salt and seafoam. 

“Baby…”

“Why,” Yeosang murmurs, covering part of his face with the pale blue of their comforter, “why do you look at him like that? Why do I look at him like that?” the older asks. “I don’t want things to be this way, Woo, but I also can’t stop it. I understand if you don’t want to talk about this. But please hear me when I say that San never meant to hurt you. He loves us; both of us. We’ll need to talk about it someday.” Yeosang pauses.

When Wooyoung doesn’t respond, the older shifts until he is leaning against the headboard of their bed. Their shared bed. In their shared room. In their shared life. _Together, always._

“Hongjoong said that he saw the way you look at San. Everyone sees it. All I’m asking you to do is tell me. Do you feel anything for him?”

“You’re believing something Hongjoong said?” Wooyoung breathes. “Hongjoong, who is head over heels for a Dark warlock? Hongjoong, who isn’t part of this relationship? Hongjoong—“

“He’s my friend!” Yeosang barks suddenly. “And he’s yours, too. Does it upset you that much that someone could love someone different? You were fine when Minho and Jisung—“

“I was fine because they’re strong, Yeosang!” he yells back, ignoring the way his head pounds with every harsh word. “They can handle the shit people throw at them. They don’t jump at their own shadows. They don’t sacrifice themselves the moment someone threatens the ones they love.” 

But he remembers his second year at Levanter. The night a group of Dark students had cornered the two of them between the lake and the land. When they edged the two of them toward the inky waters, more than aware that neither man was able to swim. That night, it was almost them Jackson Wang would have raised Hell over. 

But it wasn’t. Because Kim Hongjoong and Song Mingi had been returning from their independent music class in the West Tower. Because Kim Hongjoong risked breaking nearly every one of his oaths when he lashed out against the three Dark warlocks who had cattled them. Kim Hongjoong sent all three students to the infirmary, hardly clinging to their souls because that’s what friends do— what a leader does.

“Park Seonghwa is perfect for him, but Yeosang, that’s what terrifies me. What happens when the top of the Dark class comes forward about his relationship with a Light student? Who protects the people that take care of everyone else?”

Silence blankets their room heavily. Made of cotton and wool, Wooyoung can hardly breathe until his lover finally speaks again.

“I didn’t realize,” Yeosang whispers. “You love him then?”

“Hongjoong? No, I would—“

“San, Wooyoung. You love San,” he says quietly. A petal falling into the wicked white rapids of a raging river. “You love me, but you love him too. And yet, you want to be angry with me for trying to be honest; for trying to talk to you. But you feel the same way.”

“Why are you being like this?” Wooyoung begs, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. The light swims behind them. 

“Because I’m upset, you walnut! I’ve wanted to spend the rest of my life with you since we were twelve. San doesn’t change that! I just want him to be part of it too.” 

Yeosang doesn’t give him a chance to reply. Or rather, there are no words left for Wooyoung to sing. This ballad has already been played a hundred times over.

Yeosang wordlessly climbs off the bed. He shoulders out of his silken pajamas, the beautiful matching ones he insisted they buy, and slips on his uniform. It’s powder blue today. 

Then, he’s gone. 

And once again, the vision hits Wooyoung. The one where Yeosang doesn’t come back. The one where he never wanted to be here at all, only this time, Wooyoung realizes that’s all the boy ever wanted.

By the time he’s dressed and chasing Yeosang’s ghost through the door, the warlock is nowhere to be seen.

He tears down the hall, his legs carrying him after a pinky promise tied with daisies and clover blooms. Amidst the mist and storm clouds, he feels his heart ricochet like raindrops off ceramic teacups during a ruined birthday party. 

And when he turns the corner, he hears it. The commotion directly outside the infirmary wing. 

So he rushes forward, guided by terror and shaking limbs, only to feel someone’s arm slam into his stomach. 

“Wooyoung?” a shaky voice asks. When he focuses on the owner, he’s met with Mingi’s familiar face. The boy seems small, more fragile than usual, and exhausted. His sandy hair has been plastered to his forehead by the endless rain and his tan-colored cloak carries the thick stench of wet wool.

“Who?” Wooyoung can only bring himself to say. He isn’t prepared for the possible answer. He isn’t prepared for the image of Yeosang, bloodied and battered, in one of those pristine, curtained beds. He simply isn’t prepared. But that is not the news that Mingi drops onto his shoulders.

“Bang Chan,” he whispers, watching the way Wooyoung’s shoulders drop. “He’s alive, but it’s bad, Woo. Kim Seungmin and Yang Jeongin found him near the woods,” Mingi’s gaze drops to where Wooyoung’s nails mark crescents into his palms. “Hey, don’t do that—“

“Is that why people care?” Wooyoung asks, motioning vaguely at the crowd before them. “Do you think this many people showed up for the others? For Junji?”

“You know they didn’t,” the older boy says softly. “But don’t think about that right now. Chan asked for you.”

The request startles him. Lips parted slightly, he raises a brow as Mingi shrugs. 

“I don’t know, I just heard it through the grapevine. The nurse told him that you weren’t in your room.”

“I wasn’t,” he calls over his shoulder, already moving through the crowd. “Thank you, Mingi.”

What he doesn’t expect to see after the staff begrudgingly wave him into the small room is another pastel cloak lingering near Chan’s bedside. 

“Felix?” Wooyoung whispers. The platinum blonde Australian jumps a foot into the air, thumb still positioned near his lips as though he’s been absentmindedly chewing on a hangnail. When he recognizes the other Lightworker, he sighs in relief.

“Sorry, ‘m a bit jumpy,” Felix mumbles. His eyes flit back to Chan’s still form, sprawled out on the white sheets of his hospital cot. For a second, Wooyoung can’t process the man’s unconscious form or the bandages that wrap around his skull and torso. All he can focus on is the way his dark hair contrasts the color scheme of the infirmary. _Silly._

“He’s sleeping,” Felix offers softly. “I’m not sure if that’s what you were wondering, but…” his deep voice drifts off as he stares at the Dark caster. “He was begging the nurses to bring you here, but whatever attacked him drained almost all of his energy.”

It sends a shiver down his spine. The law of casting had been drilled into their minds for so long, yet the reality never had weighed quite so heavily. Material could not be created or destroyed but it could be stolen. It was the root of so many attacks against Lights, but to hear of it in an attack against a Dark caster was almost a myth.

“Wooyoung,” Felix says tenderly, reaching for the older’s hand. The obsidian ring adorning his finger catches the light, illuminating exactly who Felix was to Chan. In the tradition of Dark engagements, the older magician crafted a stone and band from scratch. In a single piece of simple stone, they would grant the material their energy to transmute it into a chunk of polished obsidian. 

Instead of drawing attention to it, though, Wooyoung smiles softly and lets Felix intertwine their fingers. 

“He wanted to warn you. During the attack, he was certain that he saw Choi San and Jeong Yunho.”

Like a dagger through his heart, Wooyoung freezes at the words. 

“They attacked him?”

“He doesn’t know. What he does know, however, is that they didn’t stay to help him.”

“Bastards,” Wooyoung growls, already moving toward the door before Felix can stop him.

“Wooyoung!” the boy calls, frowning when the older meets his gaze. “Stay safe. For Yeosang, at least.”

Maybe, it’s foolish to run straight into the maw of the beast. But when he barrels into the mess hall, the room falls startlingly silent. 

San is sitting toward the end of one of the Dark caster tables, his head resting on its surface as though his goal is to block out the world. Even so, past the pitiful sight, Wooyoung doesn’t stop himself from marching right up to him. 

Seonghwa, Yunho, and Jongho see him before he can get close enough to actually touch San, but that doesn’t stop him from belting out his accusations for all to hear.

“Bang Chan?” he barks, watching San’s head fly up. When the man’s tired, heterochromatic eyes meet his, he almost feels a spark of pity. “He saw you both. You and Yunho,” he growls. “Do you want to explain why exactly my friend is bleeding out on an infirmary cot? Or should we handle this another way?”

For the first time, San looks terrified. His face has lost all color, aside from the embarrassed flush that climbs his neck. 

“Wooyoung, can we do this privately—“

“Why? So you can butter me up with lies and make me believe you ever actually cared about me? About Yeosang?” Wooyoung can feel the tears that burn at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t understand why I ever trusted you. Why I let myself start to love you.”

And when he turns away from San, the last person he expects to see is his own fiancé soaked to the bone. 

Ethereal. Yeosang has always been the most stunning visage of home. Of comfort and rose petals. Waterlilies and tearful laughter. And now, he is the image of something less than a broken heart. 

“Yeosang,” he breathes, taking a step toward the older. “I’m sorry—“ 

“None of that now,” Yeosang breathes. He reaches for Wooyoung’s hand with a soft smile. “Come on.”

He leads them into the corridor and lets Wooyoung crumple into his arms without a second thought.

“Where were you?” he sobs. It wasn’t the largest issue at hand, but it was the one that could ground him the easiest— a speck of reality in chaos. 

“The Frost Web,” he says, not flinching when Wooyoung’s hand cups his cheeks. He leans into the touch, smiling when the younger runs his thumb over the delicate pink of his birthmark. “I needed to think of what to say to you and figured I should check on the spiders; got scared of the storm knocking out the new webs.”

A giggle dances out of Wooyoung’s chest.

“You checked on a bunch of bugs in the middle of a near flood?” he asks as Yeosang shrugs.

“It made me realize something. They can always rebuild what they’ve made.” As Yeosang says it, Wooyoung’s touch stills on his cheek. “I think we can too. It’s not a crime to love San, even though this world wants us to think it is. And we can’t just pull him into our relationship.”

“You—“

“I mean the relationship between the two of us. Loving San means starting over, building a home together; not just adding on to the old. But I am asking you, and I’ll ask him the same, do you love me?”

“I do.”

“And do you love San?”

“I did, before…”

And Wooyoung knew. He had seen the way Yeosang’s gaze lingered, how his touch ghosted over San’s knuckles whenever there was a moment. He has seen the way San stared after Yeosang’s receding form as the warlock ducked beneath frosted branches. The way his dimples appeared when Yeosang giggled; deep and rich. He knew how painful what he had to say would be.

“He hurt Chan,” Wooyoung whispers as the crushing reality set in. “Chan saw him with Yunho during the attack—“

“No,” Yeosang mumbles, shaking his head. “I saw them too. Wooyoung, they weren’t after Chan.” Yeosang pauses, fiddling with the hem of his cloak methodically. “San probably wanted to tell you it himself. They—“

It’s then that the sound of shattering ceramic echoes through the corridor. Flying off the tile, the two warlocks charge in the direction of the sound. As they round the corner of the mess hall, they’re met with the sight of ruin. 

What was once breakfast has instead turned into a circular fight, but whoever is in the center is blocked out by the massive crowd. And at first, Wooyoung’s first instinct is to run; to carry Yeosang far from danger. But then, he catches it. 

San’s voice as he lets out a guttural cry.

And once again, he pushes through a crowd of gawkers concerned only for the wellbeing of a Dark student. 

On one side of the circle, San clutches his shoulder. Three crimson gashes seep between his fingers, painting his lips red when he uses the same hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth.

Across the circle, a lanky, humanoid creature wobbles as though uncertain of its balance. The remains of what was once a Light student’s uniform clings to its bones. It had been living among them. When it takes a step forward, Wooyoung watches the beast lift long, gnarly claws to its nose. It sniffs the scarlet that tips them, no doubt from the injury it slashed into San, and grins maniacally. With a mouth cut like Dahlia’s smile, it laps at the blood. 

A vampire. 

Though evidently, it was after more than blood as it raced toward San. Even across the room, Wooyoung could feel it. The creature was leeching energy from the Dark warlock; siphoning him like a sweet treat. And instead of stopping it, San was trying to draw the attention off of the crowd. Away from the students that were too stupid to run.

_Sacrificing himself for those he loves._

“This,” a voice growls beside him. Wooyoung registers, almost too slowly, Jongho’s presence as the boy sidles up to motion at the attack. “When I said you need to keep your nose out of shit, I meant this. Get out of here, Jung Wooyoung.”

“I’m not leaving,” he barks, facing the younger warlock. “Tell me how to help.”

“San doesn’t need your help, he needs you to leave. Take your fiancé and get out of here before you get killed.”

“No,” Wooyoung says again, this time letting energy pool in his fingertips. “I don’t think I will.” 

And maybe, it’s catastrophic to rush into the fray of a supernatural fight. Maybe it’s stupid and no doubt a surefire way to meet his end. But when he presses a quick kiss to Yeosang’s lips and feels the way his lover smiles, he doesn’t imagine it being all that bad.

San sees him coming before he can even announce his arrival, but that doesn’t stop the dimples from springing onto the boy’s face. 

“No one else thought to join you?” Wooyoung asks, tossing a protective barrier between them and the vampire. 

“Everyone else knows that it’s not easy to fight alongside a hunter,” San grins. In his hands, a blade of deep obsidian rests. No doubt it had been summoned directly from the iron in his blood, but the thought still makes the Light caster shiver. “I told everyone else to stay back. I figured it couldn’t possibly be hungry enough to do more damage. But it seems Yunho and I interrupted its meal earlier.”

“If that’s your roundabout way of asking whether or not Chan is still breathing, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know he’s fine.” Wooyoung grimaces when the creature drags its nails down the surface of his barrier. The sound rings in his ears, painful and sharp, and threatens to make his head spin.

“Good,” San breathes. “Wooyoung, please know that I never meant to hurt you–”

“I know,” he says quickly. “God, San, I know. I was wrong and prejudiced to think that you ever would purposefully do something like that.” When the barrier starts to crack, it’s clementine surface fracture under the pressure of the vampire before them, Wooyoung squeaks. 

“Wooyoung, I–”

“You better not say you love me again right now. I swear to the Heavens above, I will shove you out there first.”

“I was going to say you have a spiderweb in your hair,” San laughs, lifting his weapon. “But I’ll save your version for when Yeosang is beside us.” 

“If he doesn’t beat you to it,” Wooyoung laughs, glancing into the crowd. Why were warlocks so drawn to danger?

San prepares to charge just as Wooyoung drops the barrier. 

Before they can move, however, the room erupts into a spectrum of vivid iridescence. Through the crowd Headmaster Baekhyun and Professor Wang fire off countless charms that send the vampire skidding across the stone floor like a ragdoll. 

“You’re late!” Jongho barks from his spot on the sidelines. “Aren’t you supposed to be—“

“Mr. Choi,” the headmaster chuckles as he traps the beast beneath a swirling void of deep violet, “your commentary is unnecessary.”

“Students, return to your dormitories immediately,” another Light professor calls. Her pink hair bounces wildly as Wooyoung fights to remember her name. Gahyeon? All he remembers is that she teaches the Dream Interpretation class he was putting off until his final year. There were some things about himself that he wanted to remain a mystery.

As he attempts to pull San out of the room, he hears the boy laugh quietly. 

“Please tell me you can carry me,” he murmurs before his knees give out. Thankfully, Yunho dives to catch him. 

  
  
  


The infirmary was never a romantic place. Even bathed in the pastel rose-gold of the setting sun, Wooyoung didn’t believe that a hint of comfort could be found in the dusty cracks and crevices of the ancient room. But with San’s laughter, paired with Yeosang’s soft smile hidden beneath an open palm, he is beginning to wonder if beauty could be found anywhere. 

“Hey,” San calls, his fingertips brushing Wooyoung’s chin. “Did you hear me?” 

“No,” Wooyoung whispers, his eyes meeting Yeosang’s across the bed. “What did you say?”

“Nothing important,” San sings, pressing a kiss to the younger’s nose. “Just that I love you both. And that you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Yeosang’s laughter only grows louder as Wooyoung swats their lover’s shoulder with an indignant squawk.

“Hey, when I overheard you guys in the hall, what were you talking about?” Wooyoung asks, watching the way Yeosang’s fingers comb through San’s dark strands. 

“When?” the eldest asks, a pout painting his lips. “In the alcove?” 

Wooyoung nods.

“Secret,” San says with a smile, yelling when Yeosang flicks his scalp. 

“No more secrets,” Yeosang mumbles. For once, however, the sentiment is shared. “You’ll see eventually. It’s a surprise.”

“That’s no better than a secret,” Wooyoung whines, ignoring San’s squeaky laugh. “How long is eventually?” 

“What day is today?” 

“November 1st.”

“25 days from now, then. Eventually will be here before you know it.”

The moment ‘eventually’ arrives meets Wooyoung with pale moonlight and the midnight hour tickling his skin. In one image, San waltzes around the room cradling Wooyoung’s lavender cloak, humming a broken ‘happy birthday’ melody. In another, Yeosang bounces on the balls of his feet, all but dragging Wooyoung out the door by his wrist. 

When he realizes that the rush made the youngest leave his cloak behind, Yeosang nearly forces them back up the three sets of marble stairs to the room. Instead, San laughs and shoves the wool monstrosity into Wooyoung’s arms with a dimple-punctuated grin. 

“Always prepared,” he remarks, pressing agile kisses to his lovers’ foreheads before twirling down the campus path. 

“Is he really a Dark warlock?” Yeosang mumbles, pressing his palm to the spot San pecked. “I’m pretty sure he’s just a rogue piece of confetti.”

“Can confetti be buff?” Wooyoung asks, cackling when Yeosang swats at his shoulder. 

He recognizes the path to the Frosted Web instantly as the three of them march through the gardens. Following the attack, Professor Wang had cancelled their detentions; effective immediately. Regretfully, it had been a while since he visited their creepy-crawly friends. 

But with a smile, he notices pale blossoms thirty feet or so from the base of the tree. They’re just far enough away that the spiders won’t bother them, but still close enough that Wooyoung and San could sit among their delicate blooms while Yeosang maintained the behemoth.

Daisies. Itty-bitty and dainty, they sway in the silver moonbeams as San and Yeosang smile back at him. His lovers. The other parts of his soul. Bathed in starlight and swathed in security, he can practically sense the affection radiating off of them.

“That morning, I was working with Professor Wang to plant these here. We weren’t sure they would be able to handle the soil, so I wanted to keep it a secret from you.”

The comment propels Wooyoung to lean forward until his lips meet Yeosang’s soft ones. He tastes faintly of vanilla and peach tart, despite dinner passing hours ago. The familiarity makes Wooyoung melt as he breaks into a smile. When he pulls away, there’s a twinkle in his eye.

“So, that’s why he stopped punishing us,” Wooyoung muses, until suddenly, San barks out a laugh.

“No, that’s because Minho threatened to bake Hyunjin and feed him to the spiders.”

“He always says things like that.”

“He had a temperature and time picked out already. It was alarming because it was exactly the prep that the spiders love most,” as Yeosang says it, Wooyoung can’t stop the peals of laughter that bubble out of his chest. By the time all three have fallen into hysterics, they almost miss the sleepy creature whose nap they disturbed.

In the silver light, a white fox stands among the daisies. It regards them curiously, tilting its head to and fro, before raising its black-tipped tail high and jogging into the woods. It’s a sight that makes Wooyoung reach for his lovers’ hands, eyes wide and heart racing. 

“Was that an omen?” Wooyoung mumbles.

“I’d prefer it to be a blessing,” San says. “If it was a forest spirit, what would you wish for, birthday boy?”

Wooyoung hesitates. A year ago, he might have said something stupid like ‘power’, ‘bravery’, or ‘wealth’. But tonight, he sees those answers like glittering diamonds in a shop window. Pretty, meaningful for some. So, he goes with his heart as it follows the fox through the trees.

“I have what I need,” he smiles, “the future is just a bonus.”

He feels San’s lips on his before he even registers the other’s movement. Even so, he closes his eyes instantly. The future wouldn’t coddle them. There would always be the chance it would run alongside nefarious winds and burn the wildflowers that seemed to sprout between Wooyoung’s ribs. 

But it would be their future nonetheless. And that alone promised home.

  
  


And the future cradles him well. Night no longer met him with images of Yeosang’s receding form. There were no dreams to be interpreted with inklings of abandonment and loss; no inky deep threatening to pull him beneath the surface. Night meant tender touches and warm mouths. Open arms and soft, needy sounds. And in the candlelight of their new cabin, Wooyoung wouldn’t have it any other way.

Graduation hadn’t been easy and there had been countless others lost to a game they never were willing to play. Wooyoung never forgot Junji’s face; his name. As the class ahead of him graduated, he still watched for the Lightworker to walk across the stage. He still listened for his name. Instead, he heard it in the form of Park Seonghwa’s speech.

Their friend had been top of his class, which was completely expected, but what caught the masses off guard was his willingness to denounce the chaos that ensued over the years.

“The law of casting is simple: material cannot be created nor destroyed. Yet, those exist among us, human or otherwise, that believe such a rule does not apply to them. To serve the Abyss does not mean to live by nothing. It simply means that you must craft your own beginning, your end. Let others decide how they hold themselves or else the void within your spirit will consume you whole.”

A year later, following Hongjoong’s graduation, the two vanished from the public eye. 

But by that, they were not alone. 

Hwang Hyunjin had ‘conveniently’ purchased far too much land for himself. When the letter rolled into Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang’s cramped flat, they couldn’t stop the manic giggles that left their throats.

Hyunjin had hired a variety of contractors to build over sixteen houses over the few acres of forested property. 

The note was simple, and probably phrased more properly for anyone else receiving it, but the trio’s version was only: ‘ _please move out here. i already got you losers a cabin and im so lonely ): minho and jisung make me want to befriend the local deer’_

It wasn’t long before they were breaking their apartment lease and practically tripping over themselves to move far away from the all-seeing eye of wizarding society. Even when they discovered that the small town-scale complex was actually hosting the majority of their mixed friend group from the academy. 

To say they had adjusted to life outside of Levanter was an understatement. They were thriving, caring for each other, and relearning what it meant to truly be alive. And Wooyoung could never stop the way his heart fluttered when he saw his own family together. Happy, finally. 

Maybe that’s why it makes him chuckle when Yeosang nearly throws the bag of leftovers from Felix and Chan’s cookout into the fridge before whirling onto San with a pointed finger.

“You,” he growls, taking a step forward. “Need to keep your hands to yourself.”

“That’s not what you were saying this morning—“

“There are sixteen of us here and more coming in a few weeks once Hyunjin can organize Yoojung’s group into the empty houses. What will you do if one of them catches you trying to feel one of your fiancés up under one of those flimsy plastic tables?”

“Honestly,” San smirks, raising an eyebrow. His gaze latches onto Wooyoung’s over Yeosang’s shoulder. “I’d probably just let it happen.”

Wooyoung laughs when Yeosang practically pushes San over the back of the couch and straddles him. And undeniably, heat pools in his stomach as he watches the older presses their lips together, tongue sliding messily between them.

“We have a bed!” he snorts as Yeosang already sets to work on their lover’s belt. Thankfully, San had long since given up on wearing his classic, complicated harnesses right after graduation. That did not mean they didn’t still have them stuffed in a drawer somewhere for easy access. 

It’s only by round two that they finally make it to their bedroom; long after Wooyoung had been pulled into the others’ game of revenge on the receiving end of San’s wicked mouth. At Yeosang’s demand.

And Wooyoung wouldn’t want to admit it, but he’s getting sleepy. Chan and Felix were two of the most capable chefs, aside from Wooyoung himself, and every meal at their cabin was paradise. However, even with exhaustion tickling his mind, he doesn’t dare stop himself from showering his boys with his touch.

Especially not with San’s brilliant smile, eyes glittering in the golden blush of the room, as he pushes his bangs out of his face. His lips swollen and glossy with spit, he giggles when Yeosang keens loudly. 

“Stop doing that,” the boy cries, his grip on the sheets slackening. “I’m not telling you when I’m close next time.” 

The threat makes Wooyoung snort as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the eldest’s neck. Edging the poor thing had become San’s favorite pastime, especially when it brought out the whining, crumpling mess. Again, Yeosang squirms under the touch, especially as San’s tongue laps over the tip of his cock. 

Grinning like the cat that got the cream, the Dark warlock watches the way Yeosang’s body jerks involuntarily with the stimulation. Carefully, San slips the rest of the blonde’s length into his mouth. Pressing one forearm across the man’s hips, holding him in place when his body arches off the blankets as the wet, tight heat is introduced once more. 

Wooyoung takes the opportunity to position himself behind San. Gently, he runs his tongue in a flat strip over his entrance. San moans softly, his spine curving beautifully under Wooyoung’s touch as he runs his fingers down along its surface. The noises the other two men made were a ballad of their own; the kind that replaced the swan song that once haunted his mind.

When he lets the tip of his tongue dip a little deeper, the saliva is already glistening around the hole. The sight pleases him as he fights the urge to smirk. When he pushes the muscle further, San pulls entirely off of Yeosang to let out a high-pitched gasp. So, Wooyoung sets to work trying to make the brunette produce the same, desperate noise. 

He coats one finger in lube, the peach-scented one that Yeosang insisted they try out because it _might_ taste like the tarts from the academy. As he slips the digit into San, he hears Yeosang begin to chant his praises for whatever the other man’s mouth is doing to him. And as Wooyoung crooks his finger in just a way that San squeals, he also hears the wet pop of San’s mouth lifting from Yeosang’s cock again. 

“Baby,” Wooyoung murmurs into San’s ear, teasing the ring of muscle with a second finger. “Don’t you think Yeosang has been a good boy? He’s been so sweet,” he punctuates the sentence with a kiss behind the man’s cartilage. “You should open him up too. See if he’s that sweet inside too.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing for Yeosang to agree wholeheartedly, his head bobbing up and down against the sheets as he all but begs San to ‘fill him up, make him feel it again’. So, Wooyoung slides San the lube with a sadistic chuckle. 

“Do you think you can concentrate on that while I fuck you?” Wooyoung asks, feeling San clench around three fingers. “You have to do it perfectly. Yeosang’s delicate, you know. Not someone like you who likes the burn; the bruises and bite marks.” 

“I can do it,” San breathes, keening when Wooyoung’s fingers press into that spongy bundle of nerves suddenly. “Fuck, fuck, Woo. I can do it. I’ll be good.”

“I know you will, darling,” Wooyoung sings, lining his cock up with San’s entrance. The first push is slow. Despite his words, and promises to wreck the older, he wanted only to make San listen. He was so far in his headspace that Wooyoung worried about pushing the boundaries too far. 

By the time he bottoms out, Yeosang is already thrusting back on San’s fingers, begging once more for the man to just _fuck him_. 

Wooyoung doesn’t move, waiting for San to lube up his dick. He could wait. No matter how many times they did this, Wooyoung was always afraid that he would rock San into Yeosang unexpectedly. Only when the other man is sheathed deep within his betrothed does Wooyoung begin to move his hips in the rhythmic way he knew would drive San crazy. 

But with both of his lovers singing their pretty songs, of deep pleas and high-pitched cries, it was difficult to control himself for long. Even as Yeosang wailed, finally having the chance to embrace his orgasm, and San pulled out of the older; his chest decorated in white. 

Wooyoung loops a hand around San’s dick and leans back until the man lands in his lap. The position drives Wooyoung deeper into the other’s heat and evidently exactly to the spot that San needed him. With a messy kiss, full of teeth and spit, he lets the waves of his high slam into him in tune with San’s pleasure. As San comes over his hand, Wooyoung pulls out of the Dark warlock with a grimace. 

Clean-up was always something that would be taken care of after they had time to map out each other’s body without the desperation of a finish line. 

And after a bath, with damp hair and matching silk pajamas, he finds himself slipping the metal of a ring over his finger once again. In the center, an obsidian stone smiles up at him. San had given them to his lovers the night before graduation. A promise that even if they were never ready to step into the public eye like Minho and Jisung, or Chan and Felix, or even Hongjoong and Seonghwa, they would always belong to each other just the same. 

And the ring of delicate daisies, embraced with a constant stream of Light energy to prolong its life, would never leave San’s finger either.

“Love you,” Yeosang murmurs as he curls against Wooyoung’s spine. 

San’s loud snore tears through the sentimental moment.

“Love him too,” Yeosang snorts, covering Wooyoung’s mouth before his squeaky laugh wakes their fiancé. His own ring glitters in the moonlight.

“Love you too.”

There was nowhere more important than here. 

**Author's Note:**

> ✧ Find me on Twitter: [@KyojinOuji](https://twitter.com/kyojinouji)
> 
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers!  
> \- Baz ✧


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